His Surrender
Draco Malfoy lay on his back, one arm draped over his bare muscular chest, the other resting under the pillow beneath his head. His stormy grey eyes gazed up at the roof of his four-poster bed, green and silver silk drapes winding and weaving around the expensive furniture piece. His brows furrowed and unfurrowed repeatedly as his opulent bedroom began to fill with the light of the sunrise shining through the long windows.
Draco could not recall the last time he had seen a sunrise. Perhaps it was during the war, on the sleepless days of raids and attacks? He would not have observed the sunrise in those times, nor current times, but perhaps he had seen a few over those gruesome years.
Again, Draco frowned.
The years of the war, in which he fought viciously for the Dark Lord, were his favoured years. A mere twelve hours ago, Draco would have asserted great confidence in his yearning of those days. The days when he was truly himself; a cruel and cold man, relishing in the destruction of those who were unworthy. The mudbloods.
The snoring girl beside him murmured in her sleep, Draco turning his head to the side in order to observe her. The beauty of her face was shielded by her dishevelled mop of blonde curls, a wet patch forming on the silk pillow her head rested on. He assumed the wet-patch to have been formed of her saliva, the girl evidently partial to drooling in her sleep. Although Draco found that he cared naught about that small realisation.
If anything, Draco found himself even more taken by her if possible.
How things change in a day.
Succulent pink lips parted slowly, no sound escaping her sweet mouth as her back arched and body tensed. The eyelids of the girl fluttered shut, concealing the hazel heaven of her eyes from his desperate gaze. His fingertips continued to dance around her swollen clit, slick with the juices of her elixir as her legs began to quiver.
And then came the most beautiful melody he had ever heard.
"Draco," she breathed before the euphoria took her for its own.
Her chest raised in the air as her back arched impossibly, Draco watching in complete awe as she stilled before squirming and thrashing, the sheer power of her orgasm consuming her entirely.
It was then that he realised; she was a goddess.
While Draco would hardly consider himself to be a predictable man, he was certainly a creature of habit in certain aspects. Predominantly when it came to his aversion of all things filthy. This applied to a variety of things, spanning from cheap restaurants (that he suspected to have kitchens filled with insects, run by dirty elves) to persons of impure blood. The smallest speck of dirt on his robes could sour his mood for an entire day, and the slightest mention of a mudblood would certainly increase his rage and disgust indefinitely.
Yet, he had surprised himself. Shocked himself. Draco was scandalised, outraged, appalled and bordering on traumatised. Or, at least, that is how he should have felt. It is how he expected himself to feel after indulging in the forbidden fruit of filth.
The crease in his brow returned as the girl sniffed in her sleep before rubbing her nose indelicately and continuing to murmur incoherent words. Shifting his position in the bed, Draco moved to lay on his side and face the girl whom he had met the previous night. His stormy eyes desired the full sight of her pretty face, but her tight and chaotic curls prevented it.
Raising his hand to her face, Draco delicately brushed the locks from the beauty, his hungry eyes drinking in the vision instantly. Draco had seen many pretty and beautiful women throughout his life, but none had the effect on him as she.
This particular pretty woman had made his heart jump, skip and thump.
She had made him feel.
The room reeked of sex and sweat, the aroma only serving to increase the arousal of Draco and the goddess. His hands pinned her wrists firmly above her head, exercising his dominance as he thrust into her brutally, sweat glistening on their bodies.
His tense body was still alight with the remains of his previous climax, Draco having lost count of how long the two had been at it now. Not long enough, he decided.
Mewl after mewl escaped the squirming girl, Draco pushing his knees underneath her thighs, her knees forced back into the mattress as he slammed into her at an entirely new angle.
The mewling noises swiftly transformed in shrieks as plunged deeper inside of her tight heat, Draco's blonde hair damp as it hung over his forehead, his body shining with sweat.
His groans and gravelly moans joined her whimpers and cries, their sounds of pleasure bouncing around the extravagant bedroom as he pummelled her tight haven desperately.
Laying on his side, Draco kept his fingers on her rosy cheek, caressing her smooth skin gently as his icy heart fluttered within his muscular chest. He never would have imagined that a business dinner would have taken such a turn of events. What had started with Blaise suggesting that the drawn-out meeting relocate to a tavern, had transpired into the beginning of the rest of Draco's life.
The tavern they had gone to was, of course, within the Wizarding World. It was there that Draco saw the blonde girl attempting to catch the attention of the rude barmaid, who opted to serve the gentlemen instead. Having instantly found himself attracted to the girl, Draco swiftly approached her at the bar and placed her order on his tab.
The girl had introduced herself as 'Octavia', and stated that she was celebrating a friend's birthday. Draco, of course, was unjustifiably jealous and outraged when she revealed that her friend was none other than Harry Potter, best-friend to her sister, Hermione Granger.
That's when he should have walked away. That's when he should have declared her as the filthy mudblood she was. But he didn't.
He should have, but he couldn't.
The Gods had played a very cruel joke on him, he realised. For the girl that he had fallen for in a matter of seconds was a muggle.
Draco had rationalised with himself that his fleeting infatuation would be dissolved the moment he conquered her body. So Draco entertained the muggle in the establishment, listening to her ramble on about a multitude of things he knew naught of, and watching her spectacular eyes light up whenever he paid her a compliment. Oh, and her fierce blushes were ever so captivating.
A wanton moan escaped her lips as he slipped his cock out of her to the tip before thrusting into her with one swift movement, burying his shaft deep inside of her still quivering cunt. He watched her eyes fluttered shut as he pulled out, and slammed back into her with enough force to jolt her body up the bed slightly. He hissed at her unintentional escape, grabbing her waist tightly, yanking her down and impaling her on his throbbing cock once more.
His eyes watched her body arch off the bed as she grunted from the impact. His fingers dug harshly into her waist, holding her in place as he rammed into her with brutal strength, growling as she squirmed and grunted before his hungry eyes.
Her feet fidgeted on his shoulders, her toes curling as he fucked her savagely, her head lolling back, curls sprawling out over her flushed face. Draco turned his face to the side, placing one small kiss on her right ankle.
His thrusts were desperate as they moaned and grunted from the sensations washing over them, their bodies tense with the pleasure assaulting them.
His cock frantically slammed into her as her cunt clamped down on him once more, his balls tensing as the onslaught of their climaxes attacked them. They shouted out in perfect unison, her body shivering and twitching as his tensed, his hot seed filling her once again, her warm silky liquid coating his drenched twitching cock.
They convulsed and twitched as he crashed down on top of her, their sweaty bodies pressed together. His hands moved to the back of her head, gripping onto her curls tightly as he panted, his cock jerking inside of her.
His lips found hers, lingering over them as he rested his forehead against hers.
"Octavia," Draco breathed, his cock twitching as the sweetest word he had ever known escaped his swollen lips.
As he continued to observe her, Draco noticed that she shared no resemblance with her sister. Apparently, her unidentical twin. He could not see an ounce of Hermione Granger in this beauty. Nor were there any similarities in their personalities. Octavia was a selfish and spoiled girl, snooty and theatrical. Her cunningness did not go unnoticed by Draco, nor her poorly concealed manipulations throughout the night. He had observed her get her own way with multiple people, including himself. While her deviousness was poorly masked, Draco found that he wanted to grant her desires and whims.
For her vulnerability enchanted him beyond measure. He was a slave to her wicked innocence.
Octavia was the same age as he, yet he felt as though she were considerably younger. For while she manipulative and strong in many ways, he could see the childishness in her; the inner brat. If any other twenty-six-year-old woman were to act like she did, Draco would have shuddered in disgust. But with her, he was consumed with affection.
Slowly, the brilliant hazel eyes were revealed to him as Octavia awoke, his soul feeling complete as he stared into the beauty of her eyes. The corner of his lips tugged, daring to twist into an uncharacteristic smile as she blushed, the memory of their actions the previous night evidently coming back to her.
Perhaps she did not do this very often? Perhaps he was the first man she had gone home with after meeting only hours prior? He didn't know.
Nor did he care.
For all that mattered, was that she was there in his bed. In that moment, with him. Making him feel.
The Second Wizarding War had ended little over three years ago, but the animosity and tension in the world remained. Given that this muggle was the sister to Hermione Granger, Draco knew that the journey ahead would be trying. It would be difficult and test his non-existent patience at every turn. But Draco also knew that he would endure it, if it meant that he could look into those hazel eyes every morning from then on out.
The muggle, however, appeared to be experiencing an entirely different thought process.
"I should go," the girl whispered, clutching the silk sheets closer to her naked body.
Draco was not offended by her statement, nor did he feel rejected. Instead, he found himself tempted to smirk at her awkwardness, finding her rather endearing and adorable. For she was evidently attempted to ascertain whether he desired for her to depart or stay. The little mudblood was testing him.
Yes, Draco wanted very much to smirk. Yet his always-stony features remained so, not betraying the slightest hint of his emotions, nor the swelling of his black heart. The heart that now beat and thumped.
For her.
"Stay." Draco ordered, his tone harsh and demanding.
"Are you sure?" Octavia asked, uncertainty shining in her hopeful hazel orbs.
"I am."
"You want me to stay?" Octavia smiled, her rosy cheeks warm against his fingertips.
Draco succumbed to the temptation, allowing his pink lips to twist into a smirk as he eyed the blushing girl. He could not resist the smirk any longer, for his response to her question would not be the last time he would say those words to her.
"I do."
Yes, Draco was aware that the mudblood was hardly on the same page as him in that moment. But Draco would employ the patience that he did not possess, and await the muggle to catch up to him.
He was reminded of a muggle saying that he had once heard at Hogwarts.
All good things come to those who wait.
Draco must have waited an eternity, for in his bed was the greatest gift of all. Not only because of her beauty and silly nature that he was immediately fond of. No. Those were contributing factors. Octavia was the greatest gift of all, for she had made him feel. She had filled a void deep within his shattered soul and repaired him.
As patriarch of the Malfoy family, Draco would not be disinherited for accepting a mudblood. That should not suggest, however, that he would not face extreme backlash. He would become a pariah to his people, only a select few breaking away from the pureblood society in order to follow him.
It all mattered naught, however. Nothing mattered. Not his prejudices, not his duties, not his racist mother, not his reputation.
None of it mattered when he had her in his bed, smiling softly at him, as her feet fidgeted against his calves beneath the sheets, inviting him to take her body once more. A temptation that he could not resist. A temptation from an enchantress with impure blood.
Again, none of it mattered. Only she mattered.
Octavia. Demanding him in mind body and soul.
And he surrendered.
How could he not? He had to. He was her slave and master. She was his goddess and mudblood. And she demanded only one thing. And he would give it.
His surrender.